“I have a white charger as well. He is well trained and has been used in tournaments by some of the greatest knights. I paid a pretty price for him,” the merchant—Merlin’s Minion—said as Gawain buckled pauldrons on Britt’s shoulders.
“I don’t intend to joust, it will be a trial by sword,” Britt said, adjusting her gauntlets. The armor she was borrowing from Merlin’s merchant friend was lovely—polished to shine and inlaid with gold—although it did not fit her as well as the suit of armor the blacksmiths of Camelot had forged for her over the winter months. What was important, though, was that the armor had no marks of any kind. Britt’s personal armor was etched with red dragons. Her borrowed armor was beautiful, but provided anonymity with its lack of decoration.
“You will still need a horse, My Lord,” Gawain quietly said, checking the snugness of the pauldrons.
“You will look a great deal more poetic riding a charger up to Duke Maleagant rather than walking, My Lord,” Lancelot said.
“All of you hush up. Arthur hardly needs more encouragement,” Merlin complained.
“I’m going to be fine, Merlin,” Britt said.
Britt had confidence in her sword skills. She was a greatly celebrated swordsman in the twenty first century, but it had taken some months of living in Camelot before Britt was convinced she was still considered devastatingly skilled.
Merlin approached Britt, twitching the faulds covering her thighs into place. “I know you have a right to be confident, Arthur, but one day you’re going to meet someone who is a better swordsman than you,” Merlin said.
“Unlikely,” Gawain said.
“I cannot wait to observe your skills, My Lord. I heard much of your prowess with the sword during my stay at Camelot,” said Sir Lancelot. “Although I am disappointed it will not be a jousting match. T’would be much more fitting.”
“My Lord’s skill with Excalibur is more beautiful than a joust,” Gawain said, fiddling with armor.
“I’ll be fine,” Britt said to Merlin. “I doubt Maleagant has had the time practice as I have,” Britt said, slipping on the gauntlets.
Merlin pressed his lips together but said nothing.
Lancelot filled the silence with no difficulty. “This is exciting. I think one day it shall be made into a song the troubadours will sing of for eons. How often does a king ride off to save his beloved and challenge a blackguard duke to battle for her hand?”
“Wait a moment, I never said Guinevere was my beloved,” Britt said.
Lancelot stared at Britt. “She’s not?”
“Of course she isn’t,” Britt said as Gawain checked the last of her armor. “To begin with she’s a silly little thing who is overly concerned with wealth. And I’ve only seen her three times, that is not enough time to get to know her and fall in love with her.”
“But what of love at first sight? Did she not enthrall you with her beauty?” Lancelot persisted.
Britt narrowed her eyes at the vivacious knight. “Why do I suspect you have already thought yourself to have fallen in love numerous times?”
Merlin eyed Britt in warning as the merchant guffawed. Gawain ignored the situation and bet over to check the plate mail covering Britt’s feet.
Lancelot blinked. “Women are meant to be admired.”
Britt was grateful Lancelot was standing far across the room. If he was any closer she would be too tempted to smack him.
“So you will need the charger?” the merchant asked.
Britt looked to Merlin who nodded. “Yes, please. You’ll have him prepared?”
The merchant sketched a bow. “I expected My Lord’s need of a mount, and sent word to the groom when I sought out the armor.”
Gawain stood, inspecting the armor one last time. “You are ready, My Lord.”
Merlin tilted his head, his eyes directed upwards. “And just in time. If I am not mistaken I hear horns and drums. King Leodegrance is leaving the keep.”
“In that case we must hurry. This way, please,” the merchant said, leading the way to the small lot behind his store.
Outside a young groom waited with a milk white horse. The charger’s equipment was white, unadorned, and startling in its simplicity.
“If this animal throws Arthur I will have your head,” Merlin warned the merchant.
Britt mounted the horse, who was a bit taller than she was used to, before she put her helm on. “No worries, Merlin. All he has to do is carry me up to Maleagant,” she said, gathering up the reins.
“Godspeed, my Lord,” Gawain said.
“I don’t understand the fuss over a horse,” Lancelot complained.
“We don’t expect you to,” Britt said.
“This way, My Lord. You need to hurry. The gates will soon open,” the merchant said, leading the way to the main road that ambled through the castle.
Britt nudged the warhorse forward, joining the rush of gawkers and guards who were traveling to the front gates of Camelgrance.
King Leodegrance, a squad of soldiers, his wife, and Guinevere exited Camelgrance a minute before Britt.